


Doesn't It Change Everything?

by theyrechasingme



Series: anything you can do, i can do better [5]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:22:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29737272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theyrechasingme/pseuds/theyrechasingme
Summary: “Nothing serious, right? That was the rule.”“A rule you also agreed to.”“Because it was either say yes and get to be with you or say no and never have the chance.”(Or the one where Bellamy and Clarke aren't together.)(except they are).
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: anything you can do, i can do better [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/342565
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	Doesn't It Change Everything?

They're not friends.

Clarke wants to make that distinction clear, _painstakingly clear_ ; they are _not_ friends. 

He’s part of some obnoxious frat that throws parties every night until students vomit on the porch or pass out on the lawn and she's part of a sorority that thinks frat boys are pathetic and childish- but throw great parties and sometimes, can be decent friends. Which is why she ends up at most of the parties and also how he notices her for the first time. He’s wearing jeans with rips at the knees and a plain white shirt with dribbles of booze and he smells like weed when he leans against the wall next to her.

She’s wearing a skirt and a high neck top and a pair of chunky trainers with white hand painted patterns and she looks so uninterested in the current goings on that Bellamy is _interested_ in her. “Clarke, right?” He asks, pointing.

She raises an eyebrow as she takes a sip of her red cup. “What, you’re not sure?” She muses.

“Well, no, I mean, I _am_ sure I just didn’t want you to think I was some stalker creep.” He says, a hint of a smile in his voice.

“So you’re not the one standing outside my window at five am?” She asks, raising both eyebrows.

“Sorry princess, that’s _way_ past my bedtime.”

She clicks her fingers. “Damn, then who _is_ my stalker creep?” 

“I could stand watch.” He suggests and she cocks her head. “Outside your door, to protect you. You know?” he suggests.

Clarke honest to god _laughs,_ her eyes crinkled shut and her hand on her stomach. “Oh my god that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. Is that a pick up line, were you trying to pick me up?”

“It’s a good line.” He assures quickly, his hands help up in mock surrender.

She looks dubious, leaning back against the wall so they stand side to side. “Has it worked for you before?” she asks, almost sympathetical like she _knows_ it hasn’t.

He smirks, something she’s seen Octavia do before. “You’d be surprised how many girls want a protector.”

“ _Wow_ ,” she echoes, her eyes wide. “Well if they’re dumb enough to fall for that then they deserve you.”

Her wrinkles his nose, the same thought running through both of their heads as he says; “What, and you’re not dumb?”

“No, I’m special.” she assures, the sarcastic tone stronger than any other. “I’m not like other girls.” she adds, taking another sip on the shitty beer in her hands.

“Oh, that’s an original line.” He points out.

She nods, a smile playing on her lips. “Yeah the boys eat it up.”

“Not me though.” he assures. “I’m also special.”

They just smile like they’re in on some secret, the _same_ secret. The party continues around them, blinding shitty lights Jasper bought off some dodgy ebay seller and blaring music from the speakers he tweaked, fucking obnoxious fesitvel strength speakers that make Bellamys ears ring for days.

She narrows her eyes. “What’s your name?”

He almost scoffs, a smirk playing on his lips. “You’re kidding.”

“Uh,” she raises both eyebrows. “Brandon?”

He stares. “You’re not kidding?”

“Sorry, at the sorority we just have nicknames for all the guys.”

“Octavia’s definitely called me by name.”

Clarke clicks her fingers. “Ah, you’re her brother.” she determines, like she didn’t know that before. She did, trust her, she did. But his ego is big enough right, and Clarke likes putting people back in their place if they share the same look he’s got plastered over his face right now.

He’s biting his lip, staring at her like she’s _new,_ this is _new._ “Like you didn’t know.”

She cocks her head. “Only because I don’t really care.”

They fall into silence, both sipping their poorly concocted ‘too’ alcoholic drinks, watching the party unfold before them. “What’s mine?” he asks curiously, running a hand through his hair.

She raises both eyebrows. “Your what?”

“My nickname.”

“Freckles.” She says, almost immediately without thought.

He nearly smiles. “Really?”

“Or Mr boring?” She suggests, a twinkle in her that says she’s kind of enjoying this and he scoffs.

“Did Octavia come up with that?”

She clicks her fingers again with a grin. “History weirdo?”

He rolls his eyes. “Now you’re just being mean.”

“What are you doing over here anyway?” she asks suddenly, like the thought just came into her mind when really she’s been thinking it the whole time he’s been next to her. Like he doesn’t have anywhere else to be or anyone else to see, like this isn’t _his_ house and _his_ party- so what’s he doing with her?

“Oh was I not clear?” he says, almost apologetically but she can tell it’s sarcastic. “I’m trying to pick you up.”

She frowns, looking around at the hundreds of other women in the room. “Uh, why?” (she’s exaggerating, there's maybe thirty other women).

“Because, you’re hot and we managed to hold a mildly interesting conversation for longer than thirty seconds so colour me impressed by your intelligence.”

“ _Impressed by my intelligence?”_ she echoes. _“_ We go to the same university.”

“Yeah but I do history and you do fine art so…”

Her blood doesn’t so much boil as prickle inside her body. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she questions, narrowing her eyes.

He’s not looking her in the eyes, just looking around like his statement doesn’t mean much at all, “Just that obviously my degree is harder than _drawing_.”

Her eyes are slightly wide when she blurts a; “ _Wow,”_ she coughs. “You’re a _dick_.”

He smiles like it was a compliment- which it wasn’t, by the way. “So, is that a yes or a no on the fucking?"

She tries not to scoff or laugh because he doesn’t deserve either reaction. “You really had me up until you called me stupid.”

He frowns, the music still loud and the dancing getting worse. “I didn’t call you stupid.”

She pushes off the wall. “That’s a _no_ on the fucking.” She deadpans, her skirt riding up a little higher on her thighs, not that anyone’s looking.

“Damn.” He mutters, clicking his tongue. “You were so special Princess.”

“Fuck you Brandon.” She sneers as she flicks the hair over her shoulder and begins to turn around- she doesn’t want to keep talking to him and he certainly doesn’t want to be called Brandon anymore.

He scoffs and calls after her over the music; “It’s _Bellamy_.”

She doesn’t even turn back around to deliver a wave of her middle finger.

* * *

Clarke is seeing this girl Lexa.

Well, Clarke _was_ seeing this girl Lexa.

Octavia’s hands are on her hips and she’s got this very unimpressed look on her face as she stares down at her friend, buried beneath the covers like it isn’t the middle of a Tuesday. “Are you going to mope around all day?” She deadpans, offering her a soft poke.

Clarke grumbles against the cushion. “That was my plan.”

Her brunette friend purses her lips. “You can’t do that.”

She grumbles again. “Doing it, it’s happening, I’ve done it.”

Octavia rolls her eyes and pokes her again. “I mean it Clarke.”

“Why not?” She groans. “Why _can’t_ I mope all day?”

“It’s not healthy and you’re beginning to smell.” And Octavia has begun moving clothes around with her feet, kicking them into corners to make room on the floor and organising plates and mugs.

She rolls around under her duvet. “Then don’t smell me and don’t come into my room.”

The brunette scoops a bundle of clothes that she then dumps into Clarke’s laundry basket and she _sighs_. “Clarke, at least brush your teeth.”

But she shuffles around in her bed again. “Leave me alone I’m wallowing.”

“You’ve been wallowing for two days.”

The blonde rolls around to look her friend in the eye, albeit hers are half closed and encrusted with sleep but they’re still zeroed in on Octavia. “Is that all? It feels like a lifetime.”

She rolls her eyes. “Trust me, it smells like a lifetime.” and Clarke narrows hers and points to the door with a surprisingly sharp finger.

“Go away.”

The brunette smiles but it’s more of a sneer really.“No.”

“Go.”

“What are you going to do, huh?” she cries in exasperation, walking back to her bedside. “Watch _Will & Grace _ reruns and cry your eyes out? You did that yesterday.”

If she wasn’t so depressed she would have sat up angrily. “I didn’t _cry_.” she mumbles, rolling back under her covers.

The brunette raises both eyebrows and holds her thumb and forefinger mere centimeters apart. “You cried a little.” she points out.

Clarke let's out an almighty groan and pulls the duvet closer to her chin. “God, what is your deal? Just let me be miserable.”

Octavia’s hands are back on her hips but she’s looking a little more exasperated than a few minutes earlier. “You guys weren’t even together that long.”

“ _Go away._ ”

She takes the ‘ _go away’_ as a sign to sit on the edge of the Blonde’s bed- which it was _not_ a sign of. “What was it, a month? Two months?” and her voice is softer but only because if it weren’t Clarke would probably kick her onto the floor.

She grumbles. “Two months.”

“That’s _nothing_.” she exclaims, risking the kick. “I have milk in the fridge that’s been there longer.”

Clarke shuffles around to look octavia in the eyes, an unimpressed look in her own. “You should _so_ get rid of that.” she assures.

“Only if you shower.” She retorts with that stupid smile. But Clarke looks just as unmoved as before so she sighs and glances at her watch and decides to change her approach. “Look, Raven and Monroe will be home soon so how about I order us some pizza, we’ll stick on some shitty action film and i’ll even let you braid my hair.”

The moping blonde sits up with almost comical speed. “No _way_.”

Octavia nods and then points toward the door. “Yes, now come on. _Shower_.”

* * *

Raven doesn’t like working in libraries, she’s more a coffee shop bitch. She likes the instant caffeine fix and the option she has to pick up a phone call, or watch netflix without being judged, which is exactly what she’s doing when Clarke drops into the seat opposite her with a huff. The blonde doesn’t say hello, only lays her arms out on the table and then her head on top of them.

Raven raises both eyebrows, removing the earphones from her ears. “There’s paint on your shirt.” she points out, because there is, strokes of different coloured paints all over Clarke’s shirt.

She lifts her head to rest her chin on her arms and look Raven in the eyes. “I know.” she mumbles.

Raven points again. “And in your hair.”

Clarke purses her lips, fighting a roll of her eyes. “I also know that.”

“And…” She narrows her eyes and uses her pen to motion to Clarke’s face. “On your neck.”

“Yes, _I know.”_ The blonde bristles before sighing again, like that sigh took all the strength out of her body, and then she closes her eyes. 

Her friend disregards her earphones completely and cocks her head, lowering her voice to something kinder when she says; “You look tired.”

“I _am_ tired.” she responds, not bothering to open her eyes.

Raven looks around, as if formulating a plan before asking in a slightly louder voice if Clarke wants; “Food?”

Both of her eyes snap open and she looks almost relieved. “Fucking _music_ to my ears, Reyes you have no idea.”

Ravens already out of her seat, swerving around the table with her phone clutched in her hand. “I’ll even buy you a coffee.” She adds.

Clarke moans, honest to god _moans,_ in the middle of this coffee shop like nobody else is around. “Have I ever told you how much I love you?”

“Not _nearly_ enough.” her friend assures, sliding into her spot at the back of a short queue.

“I could scream it from the rooftops? Immortalise it in a tweet? Post an Instagram for the world to see?”

Raven gasps, nearly throwing a hand over her chest. “Instagram official love? That’s the only type of love I’ll accept these days.”

The other woman pretends to unfold a bunting. “ _On this day raven Reyes was reminded that she is loved_.”

“And all because I brought you coffee.” she adds, subconsciously stepping forward in the queue.

The blonde shrugs. “I’m a slut for caffeine.”

Raven laughs out loud. “Whore, you’re so easy.”

“How _dare_ you, I’m _hard._ ”

“Hi princess.”

Clarke flinches at the barista’s voice that sounds just like Bellamy, because lo and behold it _is_ Bellamy in a short sleeved shirt and full length red apron, “Jesus, you scared me.” She blurts, hand to her heart.

He smiles in return. “What’s this about you being hard?”

“Hard to get.” Raven assures quickly. “She meant hard to get… right?”

“Yes obviously.” The blonde bristles, shoving her hands into her pockets.

Bellamy cocks his head, his eyes never leaving Clarke. “Maybe you’re just too picky?” he remarks smugly.

She narrows her eyes. “Maybe I don’t like people who call me stupid?”

Raven looks between them, both eyes widened in curiosity. “Since when do you two talk to each other?” she turns to Clarke to whisper; “You’re _friends_ with Bellamy Blake and you _didn’t_ tell me?”

“We’re not friends.” The other woman says harshly, a little too harshly it makes Bellamy smile.

He decides to egg it on and leans in to Raven. “She hit on me last week.” 

She gasps. “ _Clarke.”_

“No I didn’t, I didn’t do that.” She snaps, shaking her head.

“She even referred to herself as _special.”_

Raven looks at her like she’s a lost puppy on the street. “Oh, _Clarke.”_

“That was out of context.” She assures through grit teeth, the blood boiling in her veins faster than she anticipated.

Raven raises both eyebrows. “What was the context?”

“Not relevant,” she says quickly. “Are you going to buy me that coffee?”

Raven fights the urge to ask any more questions, just purses her lips. “Fine. Can I have a latte and a flat white please?”

“Sure.” Bellamy nods with a smile, something Clarke tries to ignore. “Have in or take away?”

“Have in-” 

“ _Take away.”_ Clarke interrupts rapidly, her eyes wide.

Raven is starting again. “I thought you wanted lunch.”

She waves a hand. “Not hungry anymore.”

“Right…. take away please.” but Raven doesn’t look convinced at all.

Bellamy smiles at both of them, something knowing and almost joking.“Coming right up.” he assures and Clarke turns around so fast she thinks she gets whiplash.

She sits back down in her seat opposite raven and up against a street side window and Raven scoffs, “What was _that_ about?” she asks, dropping her wallet into her back.

“Nothing.” the blonde waves off. “How’s your project going?”

“Fine, great, yeah good.” but Clarke just stares at her until Raven groans loudly. “Awful, it’s _awful_ Clarke I can’t do it.” she huffs, smacking her head against the table.

“You say that every time.”

“I mean it this time.”

“You meant it last time.”

Raven lifts her head from the table. “ _Clarke_.”

“Sorry, I'll be supportive.” she promises, trying not to laugh at the red mark on the other woman’s forehead.

“It’s _so_ hard.” She mutters. “I can’t get the coding right and everytime i think I’m close I'm 45 km further than when I started- _literally,_ I ended up in Japan.”

“Japan is further than 45km-”

“That’s not even the point.” she cries.

Clarke tries really, really hard not to laugh. “Right, I mean… i’m sorry.” she struggles to say before covering an escaping scoff with a cough. “How much longer do you have?”

Raven grunts again. “Three weeks.”

“You’re _fine_.” she says without thinking and Raven sends her a glare with no heat behind it.

“You really suck at this comforting thing.”

“It’s _not_ my forte.” Clarke agrees. “Can I offer you a sarcastic comment?”

“Was that a _‘friends’_ reference?”

“Was it?”

Bellamy apparates by their table and Clarke nearly jumps when he holds out two coffees in her direct line of sight. “A latte and a flat white to go?” he says, his voice airy and nonchalant but she can tell he’s absolutely enjoying every single moment of her discomfort.

Raven smiles, unaware of the tension between them. “Thank you.”

He nods, his eyes lingering on Clarke for a little too long and then returns back behind the counter. She sighs. “Can we get lunch somewhere?” she demands, not even waiting for the Raven to agree before she jumps to her feet and sprints right out of the cafe.

The brunette shoves her books into her bag and yanks her coat from the back of her seat. “I thought you said you weren’t hungry.” she calls, running out after her.

The blonde grunts. “I just _really_ didn’t want to stay there.” and raven raises an eyebrow.

“Is this about Bellamy?” she asks, glancing into the cafe where he’s busy cleaning down one of the counters.

Clarke takes a sip of her annoying decent coffee. “No.”

* * *

It seems that Bellamy _Keeps_ seeing Clarke around campus. Whether she’s walking to class or grabbing a coffee or laughing with some friends in the quad while they smoke cigarettes and carry their hand embroidered tote bags like they qualify as a form of identity. ( _what is your beef with art students bro?_ Monty had laughed.)

Clarke ends up at another Frat party, flanked by her friends who are all dressed up in bright electric colours- apart from Octavia who only seems to know the colour black, and Raven who likes red, and monroe who- in short, Clarke is the only one wearing bright colours- like the art student she is.

Her hair is pulled into space buns, wrapped in pink ribbon and tied into a bow to match the pink of her shoes that are covered in white drawings Bellamy thinks she drew herself. Her shirt is off the shoulder and white and _see through_ and her green mini skirt has a slit up the side and she looks _hot-_ Like she’s trying to make someone jealous and Bellamy thinks this time, he might actually have drool struck to his chin.

“You know what you need?” Octavia says, pouring herself a beer.

“What?” the blonde echoes.

“You need a one night stand.” 

Clarke raises both eyebrows. “Is that your expert opinion?”

“Think about it.” she continues, like Clarke never spoke. “The best way to get over someone is to get under someone and there are _plenty_ of someone’s here who would jump at the opportunity to get on top of you.”

Clarke raises both eyebrows and carefully takes the beer from her friend’s hands. “I think you’ve had enough to drink.” But the longer she lingers on the idea the more she doesn’t seem to have a problem with it. It actually, might even be a good one. Don’t tell Octavia though, her head is big enough.

She dances with her friends and downs a shot that drips onto her chest and smiles so wide he can’t help but stare, but he doesn’t approach her, he doesn’t make a move. He’s not quite sure _how_ at this point. 

Eventually him, Jasper and Monty migrate to his room where Jasper rolls a joint with weed he grew himself and Bellamy yanks his bedroom window open. They’re halfway through it when Jasper decides _now_ is the perfect time to get philosophical.

“Bro,” he starts, addressing no one in particular. “Have you ever thought about how, like, we don’t know if anything is actually right or wrong?”

Bellamy stares at him and Monty decides to speak. “What do you mean?”

“I mean like, we invented everything. Every theory and every concept and we invented the questions and the answers so like, we invented right and wrong but how do we know if anything is actually right or wrong when we came up with the parameters?” Jasper seems to have swallowed a moral philosophy textbook and regurgitated it’s contents.

Bellamy still doesn’t speak because _dear god._ Monty picks up the slack again. “Like how, two plus two is four. We came up with two and plus and what they mean and their value and how put together, that makes four.”

“Right, but _we_ invented that.”

“So our moral code is just a complete invention?”

“Well yeah,” Jasper agrees. “There are cultures and eras of history where human sacrifice and cannibalism is perfectly okay and not regarded as wrong so like, we invented right and wrong. We also came up with the words right and wrong and assigned them meaning. We could have chosen banana to mean right and vanilla to mean wrong and we would have just accepted that.”

Bellamy sighs loudly, squeezing his eyes shut. “You’re giving me a headache.” 

There’s a clank outside and through his open window comes Miller's voice from the garden. “ _Yo jasper.”_ he shouts with his hands cupped around his mouth.

The three men in Bellamy’s room swing around to look out of his second floor window. “What?”

“We gotta roll out the kegs, come help, Monty you too.”

Monty points to the third man in the room. “What about Bellamy?”

“I tore my ACL.”

Miller cups his hands around his mouth again. “He tore his ACL.”

Jasper scoffs, turning to face Bellamy who just smirks. “You don’t even know what an ACL is.”

“Shut up and go help.” He orders, snatching the joint from his fingers and pointing to the door.

Monty and Jasper pile out, tripping over their own feet and laughing like idiots. Bellamy watches as they roll kegs in the garden while the party goes on beneath his feet. There’s a knock on his open door and he turns around, the joint trapped between his lips and his eyes curious.

Clarke cocks her head, “You having fun up here, all by yourself?” She comments, standing in the doorway but not breaking the threshold. 

He removes the joint from his mouth. “The time of my life, couldn’t you tell.”

“Oh, yeah.” She nods, resting her shoulder against the door frame. “Your excitement is palpable.”

He presses his back against the wall where it connects to the window. “What about you? Why are you up here?” He asks, the fizzle in the air crawling across his skin.

The environment is electric and their blood is mixed with an intoxicating amount of alcohol that only leads to bad decisions. She stays in the doorway, her eyes narrowed and sultry and her head cocked in a confident stance. “Well I was actually looking for Octavia, do you know where she is?” She definitely wasn’t looking for Octavia.

He points to nowhere in particular. “Yeah, she left with some guy.”

“Lincoln?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, cool.”

She doesn’t move from the doorway and Bellamy takes the shot. He holds out the joint. “You smoke?” He offers.

“Sure.” She nods, crossing the threshold into his personal space which makes him feel uneasy and excited at the same time.

She moves to stand on the other side of the window, the night sky between them as he turns his body to the side and hands her the joint. The space feels necessary, like it’s a barrier they need. She inhaled a puff and he watches her mouth close around the joint, and then he feels gross for staring. 

He points. “I like your hair.”

“Thanks, I like your…” she trails off, looking him up and down. “You didn’t put much effort into your outfit.”

“I don’t have to.”

“Technically, neither do I.”

“Yeah but you could wear a bin bag and look good.”

She cocks her head, her eyes sparkling with mirth. “Is this another one of your pick up lines?”

He mimics her head tilt. “Is it working?”

She smiles knowingly. “No.”

“Then no.”

They fall back into a comfortable silence, their eyes never tearing away from each other like a simple look will fester the desire in their guts, like they’re testing each other to break first. 

She hands back the joint. “So you work at the coffee shop?” She remarks.

“No I just spend my free time there.”

“God, I _do_ hope they pay you for it.”

He nods. “In sexual favours and copious amounts of free caffeine.”

“I understand the appeal of staying in a workplace that guarantees a daily orgasm.”

Bellamy, honest to god, laughs out loud, much the same way Clarke did when they first met. His eyes are crinkled at the edges and mouth is wide open in a blinding smile- he’ll blame it on the weed because Clarke’s not actually that funny, ( _‘not funny? You dick.’)_

His eyes are droopy and the smile he has plastered across his face is something dumb and unfiltered and Clarke can’t help but send the same one back. Like they’re two teenagers finally left alone in the privacy of their own intimacy.

There’s a bang outside, someone drops a keg or something and they both stop smiling, tearing their eyes away from each other like they were caught doing something wildly inappropriate. 

She swallows, looking around. “Are we in your room?”

He nods. “We are.”

She notices his bookshelf in her direct line of vision and he hands her the joint. She takes a puff and points. “You read?” 

“No they’re just for decoration.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.”

He chuckles. “I read. I read a lot”

She narrows her eyes and reads the title, carefully approaching the shelves, painfully aware of how closely he watches her move. “ _Catcher in the rye, little women, Leo tolstoy, fydor Dostoyevsky, Oscar Wilde…_ This is quite a collection you have.” He shrugs as she traps the joint between her lips and drags her fingers over the books.

“That’s just the classics. The shelf below are books from this century and all the rest are history books. Egyptians, Romans, Myths, Dictators. There’s a bunch about philosophy and spies and… stuff- Sorry.” He interrupts himself. “I’m really living up to my _‘Mr Boring’_ nickname.”

She scoffs a laugh. “You’re right, I nearly started snoring.”

She moves back to her spot on the other side of the open window. “Do you like to read?” He asks, watching her take another puff and watching the sarcastic response form in her brain before it even passed her lips.

“No I’m not nearly smart enough for words, I’m more of a picture book gal.”

He rolls his eyes and sighs loudly. “I never called you stupid.”

She just smiles and it throws him off guard. “I’m not upset.” She assures and she only hesitates for a moment before she levels him with a look that sing songs _trouble_ in his head _._ “ _But_ you did do me a favour.”

He narrows his eyes. “How so?”

The distance feels all the more necessary now, it feels like it gives him space to make an informed decision, she feels like it’s _safe._ She clears her throat, waving the joint. “Well, now that you’re cemented in my brain as a massive dick, I don’t have to worry about falling for you in _any_ way.”

He smirks because he knows where this is going. “Falling for me?” He echoes.

Her eyes darken. “When we have sex.”

He clicks his tongue. “You’re here to take me up on my offer.”

“I am.”

“What changed your mind?”

“You’re the perfect candidate. I don’t have feelings for you and you have a repuation of being a decent fuck.”

He chokes. “Decent?”

She rolls her eyes so violently he worries they’ll get stuck up there. “Great, amazing, incredible, can I get to my point?”

“Sure.”

She hands him the joint and straightens, like she’s doing a presentation in front of high up important people with serious jobs and valid opinions. “You don’t want to date me, or spend time with me or cuddle. I hate cuddling.”

He smirks again. “Great, me too.”

“I don’t want something serious and you’re one of the only people I know who _excels_ at not being serious.”

He stares, the smoke rising from his mouth and her eyes follow the movement of his lips. He immediately feels a rush of confidence which Clarke will call smugness. “You’ve really thought this through.” He comments with mild surprise.

“I have and if you’ve suddenly changed your mind or got a girlfriend then this is going to be horrifically embarrassing.”

“I’ve done neither of those things.” He assures and her heartbeat begins to race.

She holds out her hand. “So, Deal?”

He reaches out and wraps his fingers around her hand, electricity flooding his veins like an adrenaline shot to the heart. “Deal.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> hit me up kids x


End file.
